The Hidden Treasure
by ForAllTheStarsInTheSky
Summary: AU. Killian Jones, a well-known club owner, finds himself in a bit of trouble when his ex-girlfriend, Milah Gold, makes an out-of-the-blue appearance back in his life. Emma Swan, a trusted colleague at the Hidden Treasure, finds herself in a bit of a money predicament that leaves her pleading for extra shifts. But Killian has a different plan in mind. *Rated T for now. Slow burn.
1. Prologue

Emma Swan didn't do bars, they just weren't her thing. She'd prefer taking a full bottle of whiskey up with her to bed and curling up with a book. It was comfortable, it was normal, it was _Emma_. But alas here she is, sitting on a bar stool downing her third shot of rum – which seems to be a delicacy here at the _Hidden Treasure_. The place wasn't packed, surprisingly; given it was a Friday night. She would just assume that had to do with it being one of the newer bars in town. It would take some getting used to.

She turned in her seat at the thought, studying her surroundings. It wasn't a big bar, it was actually quite comfortable. There was a stage, most likely built in, but a stage nonetheless. Of course that was deserted, holding a few similar bar stools and a pool table. And in front of that was a small floor, accompanied by tables and chairs and enough room to get a dance or two in, if you so pleased. Her eyes studied that the most, watching as random couples fumbled and fell over each other trying to keep in time with the music. It was amusing, but she was starting to get a headache, so she turned back around.

Emma hadn't even noticed the bartender slipped her another shot, as well as her receipt, which she felt a little ashamed to be getting so early. She knew she hadn't been there _that_ long, and if this place had a drinking limit, well, she definitely would try and avoid it the next time she felt the need to get away. Her eyes searched the counters and walls in front of her for some sort of sign that would sate her curiosity, but when she came across empty she frowned, and checked her watch for the time. It was not even midnight yet, and that alone upset her far more than anything. It had been a long and shitty day, one she came here explicitly to try and forget, and here she was, allowing herself to pull her mind back in to that black hole she called thought.

It wasn't enough that Neal wanted shared custody of Henry, no, he wanted back in _her_ life as well. And God only knows if she hadn't have been forced to change her ways and grow up, she might have let him. But things have changed, _she_ had changed, and she couldn't just erase the history they had. No amount of apologies or efforts to make up for lost time were ever going to be good enough - were ever going to change the fact that it _did _happen. All she could do was try to forgive, and move past it all, maybe with even a bit of her dignity left intact.

She didn't even want to get in to losing her job not even six hours ago due to "excessive absence." It wasn't as if she ever intended to miss all of those days, and it wasn't like she had been out screwing around or blowing off her loyalties to them. She had a son to worry about, and it wasn't her fault if the kid decided to use his imagination and wound up falling out of a tree. Or, woke up at three a.m. and decided to go out in zero degree weather and build a snow castle. And even then it wasn't _his_ fault; he's a ten year old kid. She was just thankful he even wanted to _go out_ and be adventurous; she prided herself on being able to rub that mentality off on him. A small dose, however, nothing like the crazy stuff she'd used to do. _No_, Henry would not be doing _any of that_.

And, not to mention being asked _that _morning to be the Maid of Honor in her roommate's wedding. That was just the icing on top of a craptastic day. It's not as though she isn't happy for her, and she would admit on more than one occasion to admiring Mary Margaret's relationship with David. They were the closest thing to a real family she had, aside from her son – and sometimes, Regina – but Emma doesn't do weddings. It's overwhelming and far too fairytale-ish for her liking. And yes, she would be referring to the fact that Mary Margaret on more than one occasion, has referred to David as her true love, her "White knight." Or at least, as White Knight a man can get.

Yes, Emma Swan had _a lot_ to want to forget. Or at least push aside for the time being. Which is exactly what she planned to do, whether the bartender liked it or not. Emma brought the glass before her up to her lips and tipped it back, swallowing it down with practiced ease before setting the glass back down on the counter. She then lifted her hand, snapping in protest trying to catch the man's attention. He was down near the end of the bar, leaning against the mahogany with ease. She'd admit – through no fault of her own, no, she'd blame the alcohol – that he was attractive. With his raven like hair, blue eyes and five o'clock shadow. It was practically unfair, and if she remembered correctly, he had an accent, an Irish accent. Something she had a thing for, apparently…who knew?

After what seemed like hours of trying, she pulled her hand back with a scowl. Emma's eyes sifted the area in front of her, shaking her head when she finally took notice of the fact that he was the _only_ bartender around. _Of course he is._ She mused, taking in a deep breath. She really was not in the mood for this. Without any more thought, she stood up and made her way around the counter, dragging her hand along the top. There were thousands of bottles of varying liquids behind the stand aligned beside each other, ranging from smallest to largest at that. Emma's eyes widened when they landed on what she was looking for, and with a smug little smirk she reached out for it, only to be stopped by a firm hand.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?"

Emma looked up then, catching his gaze almost instantly. Those sea blue eyes surrounded by dark lashes, it was doing the worst of things to her. And yes, she will most definitely be blaming the _alcohol_ for that.

"What does it look like I'm doing? Clearly you have better things to do than say, I don't know, _your_ _job_?"

She hissed, pulling her hand back from his grasp and back to her side where it belonged. Her eyes found their way to the end of the bar where he was not only a minute ago, and eyed the girl hanging half way on top of it, apparently still entranced by the bartender. Emma shook her head, placing both hands on her hips. He must have caught wind of her gaze because his lips curled up in to an unruly smirk.

"Is that _jealousy_, lass? I don't even know you."

He tilted his head then, leaning his weight against the bar. Emma rolled her eyes in response; he didn't give her enough time to retort before opening his mouth again.

"What's your name?"

"…what?"

Was all she could manage, she was still in a bit of shock that he hadn't kicked her out yet, or at the very least told her to find her seat. She began to wonder why she hadn't done either on her own.

"Your name, I'm assuming you've been given one. What is it?"

She shot him a sarcastic smile, crossing her arms over her chest – a gesture she soon came to regret when his gaze followed. Her mouth then opened to reply, but was interrupted by a prissy little side voice before she could.

"Ma'am, can I get a vodka martini? I've been waiting here for the past ten minutes."

Her head turned, following the voice directly, mouth falling open at the request. She couldn't tell if she was more offended by the insinuation – although standing behind the counter _might_ give someone that impression – or the fact that she called her _Ma'am_. That was definitely a new one; this woman didn't look _that_ much younger.

"Yeah sorry, I don't – "

"Oi, you heard the woman," The bartender interrupted, pulling his weight from the mahogany, "Get to work, _Ma'am_."

He put extra emphasis on the last word and Emma turned her head back with a glare. Just a little more than confused with his tactic.

"What the hell are you doing? Why are you – "

She was cut off by a shaking hand in front of her face, the same hand that had a hold of hers only moments before. Her glare was still present when she smacked it away.

"Clearly the lass is still recovering from her double shift," He started, "I'll get that to you in a minute, milady."

Emma eyed him carefully, stepping back as he began to put the drink together. She wasn't even trying to comprehend his choice in defending? her. She reached in her back pocket and pulled out the money necessary to pay her tab, and left it by her empty glasses. Emma only hoped some desperate drunk didn't snatch it away before the insufferable bartender could get it, but she _really_ didn't care enough to glance back and check as she exited the bar.

Emma was instantly hit with a cool gust of wind; it spread across her body in a matter of seconds. Hitting her cheeks in a way she felt she much needed then. Still, what she wouldn't do for a nice cup of cocoa, _extra cinnamon, _and maybe a warm bath. The walk to her car wasn't very far, thankfully. She pulled her keys out and opened the door with ease, smiling as she slid in and moved the keys to the ignition. Luckily – and much to her surprise, especially in this cold – the car started. But her joy was short lived when a familiar voice called out beside her. Emma rolled her eyes with a sigh; of course it wouldn't be _that_ easy, he didn't seem the type.

"Oi, what the hell do you think you're doing now?"

"Isn't it obvious? I'm going home."

He chuckled; crossing his arms as he finally got to her car and leaned against the door frame. Casually at that, like he belonged there. She sat back in her seat and copied his stance, slowly letting her eyes go up to meet his. If looks could kill, hers probably would.

"Aye, I gathered as much… What I meant was what the hell do you think you're doing behind the wheel? I did cut you off for a reason, but perhaps you forgot about that on your little _endeavor_ behind my bar."

He was speaking with his hands now, gesturing back towards the building. And she rolled her eyes, remembering the irritation she felt when he slipped her that receipt – and seriously, did he really think he was doing her a favor?

"Wait, your bar? This is _your_ place?"

She asked, finally catching on to what he said, eying him as he leaned in…a little too close for comfort.

"Aye that it is, rather cozy wouldn't you say?"

"You're insufferable."

She muttered, and he smiled at that and pulled his weight from the frame. She realized right away the smile he held in place didn't reach his eyes, at least not quite. It was confusing to say the least, but she'd blame a part of that on the alcohol. Speaking of –

"Look, I don't live very far. It's midnight, there is no one around, and I'll be fine. I've never had a low alcohol tolerance, but thanks for the concern anyway."

Emma finally reached out to shut the door, and he was there once again as she did, pressing his palms against the top of her car. And she didn't know why, but his eyes just looked a hell of a lot brighter behind glass. She took in her bottom lip and rolled the window down, mentally kicking herself for allowing more cold air in than necessary. At this point he was grinning again, any confusion she felt moments ago was replaced by a sudden urge to reach out and punch him in the face. _That would be something, wouldn't it?_

"You're a stubborn lass, _I like that_."

His last words came out in a whisper, sending chills up her spine, and _God_ what she _really_ wouldn't give for a warm bath. Emma couldn't find the words to comment back, it's not like he left her much to reply to anyway. So she only nodded once, before buckling her seat belt and setting the car in reverse. And of course he was there again, holding his hand out in an attempt to stop her from leaving.

"Wait look, I -"

"Okay listen, Buddy," She started, holding a hand out to silence him. "I don't know what it is you're trying to accomplish here, but save it. I'm about ten seconds away from punching you square in the –"

"I want you to work for me, Swan."

He interrupted, and her eyebrows shot up in response.

"_Swan_?"

Was all she could think to ask, Emma could already feel her brow furrowing as she tried to remember when it was she gave him her name. Of course, it wouldn't come to her, because she _didn't_.

"Well I never got your name; we were rudely interrupted before you –"

"I wasn't _going_ to give it to you."

She let out with a breath she didn't know she was holding. His eyebrows shot up in response, he seemed a little taken back by her declaration, but she was a little too out of her element to care.

"Right… Well, I settled for calling you by the first thing I noticed."

He used his hand to gesture to her chest, right where the Swan necklace she almost never forgot to wear was hanging. She opened and shut her mouth a few times. Contemplating what to say, but as luck would have it, she couldn't find the words. His eyes were set on hers, and she studied them without hesitation. The way he stared at her, it was unsettling. Like he was trying to find something, anything, that would tell him who she was. This stranger, trying to open her up and dig and it was _stupid_. So stupid for her to still be sitting there, listening and waiting and thinking.

"I'm not asking for your hand in marriage, love. It's a simple request; any number of answers will suffice."

She canted her head to the side, giving him a smile that she hoped would show just how unpleased she was with this _entire_ conversation.

"I know what it is, I just can't figure out _why_."

"Isn't it obvious, love?"

"Would I be asking if it was?"

He shrugged, smirking once again. And he really, _really_, needs to stop doing that.

"Point taken," He started, tilting his head. "It's like I said, _I like you_."

The whispering thing again, yeah, he could stop that too.

"You don't even _know _me." She countered, nearly glaring at him.

"Not like _that_." He said, pushing off of the car and crossing his arms again. She sighed running a hand over her face, suddenly a lot more tired.

"I think you have potential. You clearly had no problem making yourself at home, and it would seem you fit in rather nicely. Of course, you have no bloody idea what you'd be doing. But, I suppose that would be where _I_ fit in."

He's persistent, she'd give him that. And what's worse is she knew he wouldn't stop until he got what he wanted. Something they had in common, apparently. Emma set the car in park then, looking particularly hard at the dashboard before meeting his gaze. Answering with the only thing she could think of that would get him off her back. Would it work? No, but it would have to do. At least for now, while he's staring at her like _that_, like he _wants_ to know her.

"And why would I accept your offer? I already have a job."

"Is that so?"

She nodded matter-of-factly. It was a blatant lie of course, and when she was met with a deep chuckle she started to wonder just how easily he _could_ already read her.

"You'll forgive me if I don't believe you. You're something of an open book."

And if it was possible, he was somehow becoming even _less_ attractive the more he opened his mouth. All she could do was glare at him before turning her attention back to the dash. There was nothing there to look at; but anything was better than looking at him. She couldn't think of anyone she's ever met who was able to call her on her lies, much less _know_ she was lying. Something like sirens were sounding off in her head, telling her it was a bad idea. But she couldn't bring herself to drive off and forget he was there. Especially not his offer, if anything it _was_ sincere. And to say she didn't _need_ a job was a bit of an understatement. She just hated that he knew that, and that he was brave enough to even ask. She doesn't know anything about him aside from the fact that he owns the bar, and that he's too handsome and smug for his own damn good. And he sure as hell doesn't know her, not like he seems to think he does.

"Tick tock, darling, I do need to get back in there."

He said, breaking the silence as well as her thoughts. She turns to look at him once again, and pulls the back of her hand to her mouth. She knew what she was going to say, and from the look on his face he did too. She rolled her eyes and put the car back in reverse before nodding. More to herself than to him, but she did it nonetheless.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Swan."

Was the last thing Emma heard him say before she pulled away and drove off, leaving him with nothing more than the smirk on his face.


	2. Chapter 1

_**One Month Later -**_

"Swan? Can I get your help out here, lass?" Killian's muffled accent called out to her, snapping her out of her funk almost instantly. There was just too much on her mind, she shouldn't be there. She should be home with Henry. Her hands were shaking against the marble sink, her eyes were a bloodshot red, and to make matters worse she had no time to grab her make-up bag before she had to get to work. Of course, if she _had_ shown up late, he wouldn't have told her anything. He never did. The dark circles under her eyes were less than appealing, she could only imagine the tips she'd be making tonight. To say sleep was a rare luxury in her life would be an understatement. Without a second glance, she slowly made her way out of the room.

The bar wasn't too busy. More usual's scattered the place than new faces, but that was expected. This was the kind of surrounding people could feel at home in; she prided herself on being a part of that. She spotted Killian across the way, making his usual rounds. She couldn't remember a time he wasn't there, fraternizing with his customers, giving away free drinks here and there. It was admirable; who knew there was a decent man behind all of the innuendo and sass?

"Alright darling, take care of you out there." She heard him say to an already drunk customer - or so it seemed - as she approached. Emma caught his attention, and nodded before grabbing a towel from under the counter, ringing it out in the sink before wiping her area down.

"You alright, Swan?" He asked, she was apparently too focused on her task to notice he had made his way over to her. She nodded with a lazy smile, looking up. Her eyes found his instantly; the soft blue shade spoke wonders about his worry. And he gave her that look often; you think she'd be used to it by now.

"I'm fine, just- tired." She replied. She didn't want to talk; and especially not to him. _No offense._ Emma chose then to push past him, waving at a customer who raised his glass in her direction. There was no doubt in her mind he knew she was lying, but he didn't comment on it. Her eyes fell to the front door as more people walked in; clinging to each other like they were already half drunk. She turned around then, leaning an elbow against the bar.

"So," She drew out, "Is Jeff coming in, or will I be working this alone?" _Again,_ she wanted to add but thought better of it. He'd already called in three times that week, and she wouldn't be surprised if tonight was any different.

"He hasn't called, _no_; but you and I both know it's possible."

She scoffed, shaking her head. It wasn't like she didn't understand. He too had a child to take care of, and without his wife, or anyone really around to help out, he was left to be a parent on his own. Maybe if she didn't have Mary Margaret, Ruby or even Regina around to help, she'd think of her life just the same - far too lonely.

Come closing time, the few lingering souls at the counter had gotten a little too comfortable with her behind. After a threat or two made towards their junk, Emma was left to clean up the mess. She _had_ been left alone to work that night, minus the few times Killian came and made his rounds. He helped out when he noticed she was overwhelmed; he had an act for showing up at the right time. If it were up to her, she'd choose Killian over any other bartender there. He's the only one who had a true act for it. Sure, Victor was skilled and talented when it came to making up new mixes. And Jeff, well, he knew how to get woman to spend a lot more money than she would have originally _intended_ on spending. But, _Killian_, he could do it all. _Probably why he owns his own place_, she mused.

Her eyes shifted to the front door as it opened, revealing a woman with long brown hair, curled endlessly all the way down. Her eyes were frantic and heavy, like she had a purpose she couldn't quite bring herself to reach. Emma shifted her weight against the counter top, clearing her throat.

"Sorry we're closed; I guess I forgot to lock up."

Emma apparently shocked the woman, because the brunette nearly jumped out of her own skin. _Really? I'm standing _right_ here._ Emma caught the woman's gaze for only a moment before noticing her eyes focus on something else behind her, and before Emma could even turn around to see what that was, his voice broke the silence.

"What are _you_ doing here?"

Killian's words were cold, dripping with disdain. Emma turned slowly then, watching as his eyes pierced through the other woman's. The room stayed quiet and still for a moment, you could practically _feel_ the tension from a mile away. She didn't even want to process what it is she saw on his face, it only made her want to run.

"Right," Emma started, looking to the customer and back before continuing. "I'll leave you two alone."

The last part nearly came out in a whisper as she began to walk away. Killian's expression was dense and hard, nothing she'd ever seen from him before, and clearly for a reason.

"No, Swan," The Irish man let out in a deep exhale, _so close, _she thought to herself, halting only a step or two behind him. "_You_ can stay. _She'll_ be the one leaving."

"Killian _please_, just let me say what I've come to say."

The brunette finally voiced hoarse and yet soft at the same time, her footsteps echoed as she pulled herself to the counter. Emma chose then to turn around, crossing her arms in front of her chest as she did so. She found herself studying Killian's demeanor, taking notice of his fists clenching hard enough at his sides to turn his knuckles white. She may have known him for a month or so now, but nothing had ever had this effect on him. It's like the man before her was a complete stranger, completely lost and unreadable.

"No point, _pet_." He spat, almost too quickly. "I don't care enough to hear what it is you've come to say. Now,"

He finished, using a hand to gesture her to the door.

"I believe you can find your way out."

And with that he turned and walked back towards his office. Emma's eyes followed him almost involuntarily, raising an eyebrow. When she heard the door behind her close her focus came back to the front of the bar, but the woman was already gone, leaving Emma alone, once again.

* * *

><p><em>Who the bloody hell does she think she is?<em> Killian thought to himself once he managed to pull his ass away from her. _Two years she's been gone, two bloody years, and _now _she wants to talk? No. _He slammed his door shut, pacing from one end of the room to the other. The sudden urge to hit something, or someone came at him full force.

"_Milah_,"

He spat with a laugh, going over the past ten minutes repeatedly in his mind. How did she even find him? Why was she even looking? He reached his desk and took a seat, allowing himself the pleasure of relaxing if only for a moment. He didn't want to think anymore. It wasn't important. _She_ left him. _She_ moved on, or went back, rather. Why she was there, why she wanted to talk, what she wanted to talk about, it _wouldn't_ matter… So why was his head spinning?

His train of thought was interrupted by a quiet knock, one he wasn't even sure he really heard until a second came soon after. _Swan_. She had been right there with them, picking up every hint of bitterness he threw at Milah. She was a perceptive lass after all. Killian pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger –

"Come in."

He said, a little more strained than he would have preferred. Maybe she wouldn't notice. The first thing he saw was her blonde curls as they slipped past the door. She didn't bring herself in fully, hiding half of her body behind the door.

"I just wanted to make sure you were alright… I didn't even think to lock the door, I wasn't – "

"It's fine, lass. No harm done." He interrupted, waving her off with a shake of his hand.

"Right, well I - my roommate just called. She needs me to get some milk before I go home. Mind if I clock out?"

All he could do was shake his head, and luckily that was all she needed to bow out, closing the door behind her. He knew the minute she walked in that night that she didn't want to be there. He rubbed the stubble on his chin, taking in his bottom lip at the thought. He knew very well if she wasn't in desperate need for the money, she would call in as often as she'd like. _Much like the rest of the crew_, he chuckled to himself. But there was a mighty small part of him that wanted to believe she would come in regardless of her lack of fortune. That she enjoyed his company – as well as the others – just as they did hers. He hadn't met a person yet who didn't admire her wit and good charm. She wasn't sore on the eyes either. Not that he took time to admire her in that way – no, _never_.

He sat back, pulling his feet up and on to his desk. Maybe if he just rested his eyes for a minute, he'd be able to think clearly. Killian leaned back, lifting a hand to his face, running it along his chin. His life wasn't about Milah anymore. Who he was when he was with her, is not the man he is now. He's made something of himself. He has decent friends, a job – hell his own business. Nothing he would have had if she'd stayed with him, he knew that for sure. A big part of him wanted to believe he didn't love her anymore, that seeing her tonight, standing there with those curls – the same ones he used to run his hands through day in and day out, whether in bed or while at dinner – didn't affect him in the slightest. Yes, that would be the _only_ thing he wanted.

He was brought out of his concentration by another knock at his door. He turned his head, studying it with intent eyes before pulling his feet back to the ground and standing. A smile was playing at his lips as he walked towards it, turning the knob and pulling it open.

"Bloody hell Swan, what did you forget – "

His words were cut off by a pair of lips attaching themselves to his own. His eyes fluttered shut at the feel, and he allowed his hand to move up and take a firm hold of the locks on the woman before him. The kiss felt so familiar, a song and dance he used to play once not so long ago. Milah. His eyes flew open, and with it he pulled away and pushed her back. She stumbled a bit, but not much. And before he could even say anything she pulled him back to her, with much more force than he knew she even had.

"This _Swan girl_" He could taste the bitterness, "Seems to think she owns the place, doesn't she?"

Killian grabbed a hold of her arms and pried them away from his person. Stepping away after pushing her back once more, this time, he held a hand out. _No, she will not be doing this to me now._

"What the hell are you going on about? That '_Swan girl'_ has more right to '_own'_ this place than you do."

He spat, taking a few more steps back until his legs bumped against the desk. She didn't follow him, but her eyes were dark and laced with a hint of jealousy. _Bloody brilliant_.

"You don't really believe that, do you? I helped you get this place, if it weren't for me you wouldn't have an office to hide in."

"_No_," he shouted, his anger rising with every word she spoke. "No, you did not help me get this place. You didn't sacrifice your life and your hard money and effort. _I_ did, because it was all that _I_ had left when _you_ bloody left me for that – that coward." He countered, clenching his fists, no doubt leaving marks from his own nails.

"_Please_, Killian." She bit back, taking a few steps towards him. "This was my dream, owning a tavern, it was _my_ dream. You thought it was tacky and obscene. You wanted no part in it."

"That's not true."

"Isn't it?"

"_No_." He squeezed harder, not caring if blood was drawn. She scoffed, and that left a bitter taste in his mouth.

"Right, I never needed to convince you; I didn't have to beg you to listen to my ideas about owning my own bar, I didn't spend restless nights going over every inch of décor for a place I hadn't even bought yet. No, that was all you." The sarcasm was not lost on him, "You bought this place, made it your own. Gave it a name you knew I would recognize because it's the name that _I_ had chosen for it. And do you remember why, Killian?"

He grits his teeth, every word causing him to stir. Of course he knew why, she was playing coy and for what reason? Just to rub it in his face? He wouldn't allow her the satisfaction.

"Enlighten me."

He answered, sitting down on top of the desk he'd been leaning against. She moved much too quickly for his liking, and before he knew it she was standing only a breath away. If he moved an inch his lips would be against hers. No doubt that was her plan.

"Because you always said I was _your_ hidden treasure. I was yours, Killian. Tell me again I had no part in this. Tell me this wasn't all for me and I'll go."

He turned his head, shutting his eyes forcefully. God she was getting in his head, twisting everything back to her, weaseling her way into his very core. She ruined him, scarred him, left him wanting more, wanting _her_. His eyes flew open then and he turned back to face her, glaring with no remorse. And as he lifted his hands up to cup either side of her face, his demeanor never changed. It didn't falter. She smiled, she thought she won. But Killian Jones was nobody's toy, nobody's second choice. A few more moments of unspoken silence filled the air before he finally gave her an answer.

"Get out." He said through clenched teeth. Studying her face as the smile she wore moments ago faded in to a frown, and the eyes that were just filled with hope and redemption glazed over in confusion and pain.

"Killian, I came back for you, I want you back. I want us. _This_." She was gesturing between them. Her voice cracked on the last word, and he grimaced.

"You will _never_ have me, never again."

He pulled both of his hands down to her shoulders and moved her back, brushing past her as he walked towards the door. He turned his body in her direction; she still had her back to him. _Apparently I didn't make myself clear_.

"Get out."

He growled, looking at the door. The air was still tense and it would most likely remain that way. She always had a way of tainting the air he breathed. Killian rubbed his eyes, losing patience with her with every passing second, but luckily he didn't have to say anything more or give it anymore thought, because almost as easily as she came, she left. Not before she was completely out of his sight, however. Milah glanced back, and out of his utter lack of self-control he met her gaze.

"This isn't over, Killian. You're clearly upset, too much for your own good. But I will be back, maybe next time you'll be a little more willing to open your eyes."

She didn't have to say anything else, and he didn't have to think of anything to say in return. She had already continued walking until she was out of his bar, and with much reluctance he followed and locked the door behind her. He definitely needed a drink, good thing he didn't have to go very far.


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own the characters or Once Upon A Time. Adam Horowitz and Edward Kitsis do._

* * *

><p>The piercing sound of an alarm echoed aimlessly in Emma's room, pulling her from her sleep with an unattractive groan. She lifted a hand and felt around her bedside table until she came in contact with the device, patting the top a few times until the ringing stopped. She lazily peeked out through her covers to check the time, only to be welcomed by the sun shining directly on her face. She winced and turned her attention to the alarm clock as soon as it began its ringing again. It was taunting her, telling her to get her ass up and get Henry to school. Thank God it was Friday.<p>

Emma allowed herself a few more minutes of shut eye before she peeled herself out of bed and walked straight downstairs. Henry was already there with a bowl of cereal, grinning at her as if he'd just seen something _hilarious_. Most likely her hair, she didn't have to look in the mirror to know it was sticking up in a million different places. Maybe if she didn't just wake up from a great night's sleep – which, she couldn't quite believe – she'd have thought to do something about it.

"Morning, Mom."

Henry said, shoveling a mouthful of cereal into his mouth. Emma walked towards him, ruffling his hair with her own little grin before walking around the island. She reached in to the cupboard when she got there and pulled out a mug, setting up the coffee maker before turning back to her son. She didn't even notice he had his homework out when she was beside him, and as she leaned against the counter to get a better look at it he shrugged with a heavy sigh. That was never a good sign.

"You alright there, kid?"

She questioned, brow furrowing as he looked up with a smile that was not at all usual.

"Yeah, I just forgot I didn't get to finish this before I fell asleep. Mary Margaret promised she'd help when she wasn't busy, but she was all night."

"Wedding stuff?"

He simply nodded, and she could only think to roll her eyes in response. It had been one hell of a month since her roommate announced her engagement to David. And between the wedding planning and work, Emma had hardly spent any time with her. Sure they saw each other around the apartment, and when it came to bills and grocery lists they shared plenty of words; but Emma would be lying if she said she didn't miss her friend. Luckily the wedding wasn't too far off, and after that – hopefully – things would be getting back to their normal state.

Henry had finished his breakfast and set the bowl in the sink by the time she realized she was deep in thought, and apparently she didn't need to remind him to brush his teeth - he was already shutting the bathroom door. She smiled to herself and turned, walking towards the counter where her phone was plugged in. She tried her best to avoid her cell last night; she didn't need the distractions that came along with it, or rather one disruption in particular, Neal. He'd been getting a little too comfortable with texting her, recently. She didn't quite know what to say back to him most times, so she'd just ignore his texts and claim she never heard her cell ring. Not that she had to explain herself to him, but, in the hopes of selling the lie, she'd say what she thought would work.

Emma scrolled through her cell, eyes widening slightly at the site of Killian's name beside a missed call. That sort of thing was rare. Before she could think to shoot him a text to see why he called, her phone buzzed in hand from a new message from Neal. She struggled internally with the choice of actually reading the message, just to see what it would say. _It could have something to do with Henry_, she thought, he _was_ supposed to spend the weekend with his father. _Or, it could have nothing to do with Henry and would be another one of his attempts to get you alone_. After a few more moments of silent debating, she sided with the former and opened the message.

_Can we talk?_

Simple enough, except for the fact that it had her stomach in knots. Emma had told him she had plans for the weekend, which was why she needed him to keep Henry. It wasn't a lie; her plans just weren't as extravagant as she made them out to be. Mary Margaret asked if she would tag along in her search for wedding halls, and knowing Henry, he wouldn't enjoy being dragged around for something like that. Hopefully this "talk" wasn't going to include him changing his mind.

**Sure. About?**

Emma nimbly replied before setting her phone down. Henry walked out of the bathroom then, wiping his – so she assumed – wet hands on his pants before taking his seat back on the stool. She gave him a thin smile and walked back to her room to get ready for the day. Friday's were her laundry days, so she opted for a simple black tee, a pair of dark jeans, boots and her red leather coat. All her hair really needed was a comb through, and make-up was definitely out of the question. She didn't have to be anywhere until that night, so she figured she'd keep herself comfortable.

On her way down the familiar beep of her cell caught her attention, she walked straight for it and read his reply.

_Not here, can we meet at Granny's? 8 o'clock?_

_Of course_, why chat in private when he can try to woo her in person? Emma took in her bottom lip, looking from her watch to the message. With a deep breath, she replied with the simplest thing she could.

**K.**

He wanted to meet her in thirty minutes, and she had to get Henry to school in half that time. There were a million and one escape route scenarios playing in her head, but only one seemed logical enough to actually work. If she took the long way around town, paid a visit to Regina at the boutique – which was something she actually _needed_ to do, Maid of Honor and all – maybe he'd catch the hint, and spill whatever it was he needed to say out in a text or two. Yes, that sounded like a fantastic idea.

Emma removed the charging cord and slid her phone in her pocket. The coffee cup she had out before was replaced by a travel mug, and was soon filled to the rim. She looked up at Henry who was studying the papers before him, and took in a deep breath.

"You ready, kid? I'll have to help you with that in the car."

She said, breaking the silence, shooing Henry up and out of the apartment with her following close behind.

* * *

><p>Emma may have had a full escape plan in the works, but what she didn't plan for was the traffic. Between the school zones on her way to taking Henry, and the morning madness through town, it was nearly nine by the time she parked her bug in front of the shop. She hadn't gotten anything from Neal since she left home, and she wasn't too sure she liked that. Either he was still there waiting for her, or he left and decided his little "talk" was not that important. This would only infuriate Emma more, assuming it was just another scheme to get her alone. She could handle him showing up at her apartment to pick up Henry, and she'd seen him enough when she had to drop the kid off at his place, but he just didn't seem to understand what personal space was. Much like a certain Irish pain in the ass, she knew. <em>And okay, where the hell did that come from?<em>

When she got out of the car and made her way to the door, she noticed David's truck parked a few spaces down. That could only mean he had the same intentions that she did. He wasn't as roped in to the planning as she was, but he was smart enough to get his stuff done before Mary Margaret could come down on him. Emma found herself hoping that Ruby was around too, she could use a good pep talk.

She was instantly greeted by a warm gust of air as she strode through. Regina was behind the register, folding a few scarves that were lying haphazardly around. Ruby was there too, but had her head lying on top of the counter. Emma could only assume that meant she was hung over, or maybe even still drunk. She _did_ have a few missed calls from the sleeping brunette, and one very unreadable text message that she could have sworn was in Morse code.

"Good morning, Emma."

Mary Margaret's meek voice said behind an arm full of fabrics. Emma instantly went to help, relieving her friend from a nightmare of a mess.

"Morning, _Cinderella_."

She joked, setting the materials down on the nearest bench. She spotted David across the way, rummaging through what looked to be a rack of wedding dresses. She thought it best she not ask.

"How did you get _her_ to come in?" Emma asked, gesturing to Ruby who still had her head down. She wasn't positive, but she could have sworn she heard a snore or two. Regina responded with a sinister smirk and came around the counter with the scarves in tow.

"Clearly that doesn't matter; she's not really here anyway." Mary Margaret voiced with a sharp tone.

"Yes well," Regina then cut in, setting the scarves down on an empty stand. "Let's see if we can change that."

Emma didn't really mind the idea, but it appears David did. He chose that moment to stroll up to the front and place an arm in front of Regina – stopping her from doing anything that she might regret. Ruby was never a good person to be around when she was cranky.

"Let's just, leave her alone. Good morning, Emma." The blonde man said with a smile on his face that could shame the sun.

"How are you holding up?" She asked, looking back towards the rack he was just occupied with.

"Pretty good, can't complain. How's work?"

She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

"Work is work; please don't remind me."

David accepted the answer with a simple smile, a nod, and a squeeze of her arm as he passed. She moved her hands to her back pockets. Watching as her roommate brought an armful of dresses to the front, and laid them out side by side on a bench – all with a smile on her face. Emma couldn't help but admire the woman's sheer happiness for such ordinary things. It seemed she was always able to turn a bad situation in to a great one, even if it didn't always stick. Mary Margaret turned around then and smiled. How she was able to make a simple gesture as that so sincere was mind blowing. Emma returned it in slight, and turned around to face Regina. Who was still arranging the scarves, apparently she was not very satisfied with their previous setting.

"So, what color did you two decide for the bridesmaids dress?" Emma finally asked, looking between the two girls. Mary Margaret was the first to answer, a glint of pure bliss in her eyes as she did so.

"Well, fuchsia for the bridesmaids… And I was thinking something a little _blander_ for you."

Emma raised a curious brow at that. She wasn't a wedding expert – not even close – but she was pretty sure bridesmaids and the maid of honor wore the same color.

"You're going to use two different colors?"

"I don't see why not," Regina commented, walking back towards the register where Ruby was stirring in her seat. "She _is_ the bride after all. You should have been around for the decision, it was quite the treat."

Emma couldn't really say anything much about that; she wanted to be there, _sort of_. It was definitely running through her mind at some point last night, but then again so were a lot of other things. And she could only imagine what kind of _treat_ she would be in for. If it had anything to do with a drunken Ruby, she's sure she'd live to regret it. She usually did.

"I'll have to take your word for –"

"_Oh God_," Ruby's sleepy voice interrupted, everyone's head turned at her wake. "What time is it?"

"Ah, so it lives. For a second there I thought you were under some sort of spell." Regina sassed with a satisfied smirk on her face. Ruby lifted her head at the comment if only to glare at the three of them, before slamming it right back down. Apparently Emma wasn't the only one who found it amusing.

* * *

><p>Emma was on her way home after a few short hours of dress fitting and endless sass from Regina. She still hadn't heard a thing from Neal, but that only further proved her assumption to be true. <em>Once a coward, always a coward, <em>she had thought, though she'd never voice it out loud. Why would she? It wasn't anything he didn't already know. The rest of the day proved to be rather uneventful. Aside from getting her laundry done and taking a much needed nap, she didn't have much to show for it. She thought of going out for dinner seeing as she had no one to cook for, but Mary Margaret showed up with some celebratory Chinese food. It also served as an "I'm sorry" meal, for being so busy as of late. Emma didn't accept it easily, but it was a nice gesture.

The two talked and caught up, and it was great – no, fantastic – while it lasted. But unfortunately, work was calling, and it was the most obnoxious wakeup call she'd ever had. The bar was packed, far more than any other night she's ever worked. Killian was the first person she spotted – no surprise there – and luckily, so was Victor.

"Swan, finally, mind taking over for me?"

Killian asked once she made her way around the bar, the question was sincere but he still seemed a little frantic. She hadn't spoken to him since last night, and after that woman showed up – the tension from that still achingly present – she found no reason to assume it was because of anything other than that. Before she could even answer, he was walking towards his office. If the bar wasn't roaring as loud as it was, she's sure she would have heard the door slam.

"He's been like that all day," The blonde beside her said, interrupting all thoughts she had. "Don't take it too personally."

Emma shot him a stern glare and shrugged it off, pulling a rag from below the counter to wipe down the remains of alcohol on the surface.

"Has it been like _this _all night as well?" She asked, tilting her head towards the crowd. Victor looked in the direction she pointed for a moment and nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, boss man over there decided to make Grahams welcome home a rager."

Emma stilled at the mention of his name. She hadn't seen Graham since the first week she started working for Killian. The duo was practically attached at the hip; it was a surprise he managed to stay away as long as he had.

"Wait, when did he tell _you_ he was coming back?"

She asked, almost offended. Her relationship with Graham was a bit – and by a bit, she does mean _a bit_ – more developed than his and Victor's. He didn't answer for a few moments, which would have been irritating any other day. When he gestured for a bottle by her side she grabbed it and handed it off. Oddly enough, the customers he was dealing with were the only ones in need of a drink. Looking around, she couldn't spot an empty hand in the house. She must have just missed the rush, or at least the first one. If Graham was to show at some point, that would definitely not be the end. Victor cleared his throat and shot a wink at the two girls in front of him before handing off their drinks.

"He came by my apartment at the ass crack of dawn and dragged me down here. Scared the hell out of me for the first hour or so with his pacing before he finally told me anything – he told me he gave you a ring."

Her brow furrowed, trying to remember anything of the sort. Her mind was brought back to that morning when she first checked her phone. She completely forgot she didn't get a chance to follow up on it; she was a little busy dealing with other things at the time. Emma nodded slowly, setting the rag back in the sink before crossing her arms in front of her.

"Yeah, I did have a missed call."

Victor chuckled lightly and brushed past her. He pulled two glassed from the shelf and filled them with rum. He handed hers off first before swirling his around a few times. Studying it for whatever reason before lifting it to clink with hers – he downed it with more or less one attempt. Emma wasn't really in the mood, so she set her glass down behind the counter. For some reason her thoughts were being flooded by curiosity, and not about the things she _should_ be curious about. No, they were about Killian. She let her eyes roam the room and bar before setting back on Victor, he was still looking down at his glass – more than likely trying to come up with some form of stronger mixture involving the substance.

"I'll be right back, try not to – _fall_ in."

She said with a smirk, and his only reply was a throaty laugh, which bordered slightly on creepy. Emma fought her way through the crowd, bottling her urge to punch the few people who decided to chain themselves together at the _exact_ moment she was trying to get by them. When she finally reached the door, she brought a firm hand through her hair before reaching out to knock. For a good while nothing happened, and of course with the music and obnoxious chatter she couldn't hear anything going on behind the door. She reached out to knock again – assuming he just didn't hear the first one – but before she could get her knuckles to it, Killian was there swinging it open.

"Hey" Was all she mustered, he looked absolutely wrecked. His hair was wild, no doubt from his hands running through it – something he did often, if she recalled. His eyes looked just as wild, _about the same as mine looked last night_, she thought.

"You alright, Swan?" He nearly shouted; his voice a bit gruff. The worry in his eyes was there again, but this time it wasn't entirely directed at her.

"I could ask you the same thing."

She replied matching his tone, studying his demeanor carefully. Emma normally had a way of reading him, something she just had an act for. Most times it was the way his jaw would clench, or how his lips waver slightly. His eyes, however, were always the most revealing. She could dig as deep as she needed to for an answer, but that was also incredibly _rare_. He was as guarded as she was.

"I can't bloody hear a thought in my own head, just come inside."

Killian said, stepping aside so she could walk through. She took the invite without hesitation, swiftly moving past him. Emma let out a sigh of relief once the door closed behind her, and her thoughts were slowly becoming easier to decipher. No wonder he enjoyed being in his office so much, the room was practically sound proof.

She turned around after a few moments and caught his eyes – or well his eyelids, rather – he had his back and head against the door with his eyes shut. Whether from relief or exhaustion, she didn't know. A bit of both, she hoped. From the looks of things – particularly his mess of an office – she assumed he had yet to go home, which would explain that wild look she saw in his eyes minutes ago.

"So – " She began, not caring too much if it woke him – in fact she'd be lying if she said that wasn't her intention. "Is your bed not as comfortable as you make it out to be?"

Emma inwardly cringed at her own words, realizing that it probably wasn't best she taunt him while behind closed doors. She shook her head, trying to remove all of _those_ thoughts from her mind. And without even opening his eyes, the bastard had the audacity to smirk and raise a dark brow. Really, all she was waiting for now was for him to open his mouth and blurt out one of his trademark innuendos.

"Darling, if it's the comfort of my _bed_ you're worried about, I can assure you you'd have no complaints."

He said with little to no interest in his own words, which struck just a little odd with Emma. He normally said his words with conviction and intent to follow through, but apparently, he just wasn't finished talking.

"Although, I have no objections if you want to try it out for yourself."

_Nope, still no interest._

Emma rolled her eyes anyway, and after a few moments of silence – aside from the muffled music behind the door – she decided to speak again.

"You know that's not why I asked."

At that he opened his eyes. The blue irises sparked with something she couldn't quite put a finger on, and before she could allow him to say anything, she was there again –

"Is it because of the woman, from last night?"

She saw the minute he registered what she was talking about – as if he didn't already know. He tensed up a bit and pulled his weight from the door, but took no steps forward or back. Instead he settled for crossing his arms and tilting his head. Something that for some reason – she knew the reason – had her feeling a little flustered. But if he noticed it, he didn't comment.

The silence became uncomfortable. The look in his eyes gave her the impression this wasn't a conversation he wanted to be having. But just as she was about to change the subject, he cleared his throat and answered –

"Aye, Milah."

_Milah_ – the name sounded familiar, really familiar. But how or why, when she had never even met the woman before, didn't sit too well with Emma. And not being able to figure it out would be something she would more than likely dwell on until the name was permanently tattooed in to her –

_Oh._

"The woman from your tattoo." It wasn't a question, not really. She felt a little too proud of herself for catching on so quickly. He simply nodded in return, and shuffled about in his little area.

"She came back after you left."

He added, letting out a deep breath along with it. She tried not to let her mind go back to last night, as much as she _wanted_ to know – which she couldn't quite explain – it wasn't her place. Even now, the conversation was far too open for them. She had half a mind to taunt him some more, anything to break this tension, but that really wasn't any better of an idea.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

She said barely above a whisper, and he chuckled lightly in return. It brought up the mood a bit, but not enough to completely ease her mind. Of course nothing she could say _would_, but it was a nice attempt. Just like her next question.

"So, Graham is coming home, huh?"

Killian chose that moment to walk forward. Getting close enough to make her want to jump back and run away – but that was just silly, and _cowardly_, and just – _no_.

"Had you answered my call, or at least returned it," He began, leaning in a bit closer to deliver his last line – completely disregarding the lack of her personal space. "You would have known along with the rest of us."

She pressed a hand to his chest and gave him a slight shove, if only to get her heart rate back at a normal pace. "Fair enough, but I mean, _Victor?_ _Really?_" She questioned.

He nodded at first, lifting a hand up to rub the stubble on his chin. She could tell he was trying to find the most annoying thing to say in return, and decided that while she waited, she could at least try and make herself a bit more comfortable. So she took a seat in one of the leather chairs he had placed in front of his desk. He didn't try and follow her or get any closer, but his eyes stayed locked with hers all the way down. Something about the way he was staring at her then, made the thought of _running away_ sound a little less cowardly.

"You know, darling, jealousy is not a good colo–"

"I am _not_ jealous." She interrupted with a hiss, leaning back in her seat. "Just wasn't aware you and Victor were so _close_."

Killian shrugged, turning his head to look around the room. _Really_ trying to hide that ever-so-present smirk he wears with such pride.

"Well lass, if it makes you feel at all better, _you_ were my first choice. But it appears you had better things to do."

"Yeah, sleep."

"Sleep is for the weak, love. You'll do plenty of that when you're dead."

Emma shook her head, and stood up to leave. He didn't flinch when she did, but a small glint of his eyes forced her to rethink. Something along the lines of not wanting she to leave, and that hint of uncertainty he spoke with before. It was doing terrible things to her, and really, she shouldn't be this affected.

"I should get back ou- "

Her words were interrupted by a few heavy knocks at the door. Both heads turned at the distraction and while she was thankful for it, Killian seemed to find it heavily intrusive. He practically glared at the door, for reasons Emma couldn't understand. And maybe it was just being in such an enclosed space that made her head spin, but she _really_ needed to go.

At that moment the entrance opened, revealing a familiar light crown of hair she was pretty damn grateful to be seeing. Victor brought only his head in, and with a curt smile – no doubt a response to Killian's death glare – he spoke loud enough to be heard.

"There's a woman here for you, Kil. I think she said her name was Milah?"

Her eyebrows shot up in response, and Killian tensed slightly. His eyes settled on hers again, that soft blue shade darkening without preamble. Whoever this Milah was, didn't sit right with Emma. And suddenly she began to wonder if it was a good idea she hadn't pressed further about what happened last night.

A distant clearing of the throat broke her from her reverie. "She's waiting by the bar. I have to get back out there."

Victor said, and nodded in her direction before leaving the room. The silence that followed was uncomfortable. The raven haired man before her was still tense, his eyes were focused on something behind her – or so she assumed – and his hands were fidgeting at his sides. He was clearly deep in thought, more than likely trying to think of a way to evade the situation.

She couldn't blame him really, she'd have the same intuition – aside from the fact that his eyes flashed with something a little more devious then. Something she wasn't any more comfortable with, something she knew wasn't going to end well for her. She couldn't quite put a finger on it – what he wanted from her – but even so, Emma backed away slowly; putting some much needed space between them.

"I never pegged you as a coward, Jones."

He scowled at her remark, taking one tentative step closer to her.

"I'm not running away. You know that's not my intention."

"Sorry buddy, you're on your own."

_Then why are you still here?_

"Just hear me out. If you don't like what I've to say, I'll go out there and face my bloody demons."

Really, she should be running. She's known him long enough to understand exactly what it is he has up his sleeve, and yet, she couldn't move. Couldn't figure out why she didn't _want_ to.

"Pretend to be my girlfriend. Just long enough for her to catch the hint."

"You have to lie your way out of everything, don't you?"

"Well," He drawls out, taking another step closer. The distance she worked so hard to put between them was practically non-existent now. "It doesn't _have_ to be a lie, darling."

She canted her head to the side, giving him the best sarcastic smile she could muster before rolling her eyes. They were likely to be stuck that way by the end of the night.

"And what if she doesn't '_catch_' the hint?"

_Did you really just ask? And God, look at what you've done. _

That infamous smirk and quirked eyebrow, truly testing the only resolve she has.

"She will, of that I'm sure. Milah is many things, but crass is not one of them. If she sees I'm content, happy, _moved on _– she'll let it go."

"So you think."

"I'm truly wounded at your lack of faith in my abilities, lass."

A scoff escaped her lips before she could protest it, not that she would. It seemed to suit the moment. His eyes were doing all of the pleading for him, working their way in to her soul. Trying to tear her apart from the inside out, and _fuck _– it shouldn't be working. She should have left ten minute ago. This was new, it was different, and he had never asked for her help before. Especially not with something that seemed to affect him _this_ much.

"I can make it worth your while."

He finally said, interrupting the on-going battle in her mind.

"How?"

He shrugged in the most nonchalant way possible, taking a much needed step out of her personal space. His arms were still crossed in front of him, and she found her eyes focusing on the way his thumb brushed against his shirt. He was nervous.

"I'll pay for your bridesmaids dress."

Her eyes snapped back up to his, catching that soft blue with a heated glare. He didn't flinch, his demeanor never changed, he just stared at her and continued.

"I know that's why you've come in the past week or so stressed out of your bloody mind."

A calloused hand reached forward to tuck a curl behind her ear – clearly unfazed by her annoyance with both his words and actions.

"And while I _do_ have an activity in mind that would help, that's not what you _need_."

"And you know all about what I need, don't you?" She retorted, pushing his hand away. His only response was a sigh.

"Yes, open book, remember? I'm no more comfortable with the idea than you are. But, as luck would have it, I'm not really coming up with another plan to deal with my troubles. You can say no, Emma."

_Emma_. That was new. She was used to the pet names and use of her surname coming from him. He was also right; she could say no, walk out and leave him to deal with Milah on his own. He wouldn't fuss – not too much – and things would be just as they always were.

_Then say no._

_It's a simple answer – the easiest._

And yet –

"Just this once."

His face couldn't have lit up any more, and she had to take a minute to regain her composure at the sight of it.

"But," She began, taking a few steps forward until there was little to no space between them. "If this doesn't work, I'm throwing you under the bus and going home."

Killian took a moment, his eyes fixated on her own – looking for some trace of a lie. When he found none, the corners of his lips turned up, any doubt completely washed away with a grin.

"Well –" He said, side stepping her on his way to the door – swinging it open with all of the swagger he could muster, extending an arm out the threshold. "After you, milady."

Emma couldn't help but roll her eyes again – and she couldn't tell if she did so because of his words or the slight clench of her heart they produced. She decided she'd stick to the former if asked – and after a shake of her head, she walked out in to the madness. Killian wasn't far behind, in fact his hand – she would assume it was his – had found a place on the small of her back as they pushed through the crowd. She turned around to face him and completely disregarded the confusion etched in to his brows –

"And if that hand," She said, gesturing to the one hanging mid-air between them, "Moves any lower, _or_ higher than it just was, I'll cut it off and let Victor have his way with it. Understood?"

His eyebrows shot up, clearly taken back by her words, and well, _good_. It wasn't a question, and she didn't expect an answer, so without another word, she turned on her heels and made for the bar.

She would just pretend she didn't hear his muffled 'As you wish' when she departed – and he would just pretend his eyes didn't wander down her backside as she made her leave.

* * *

><p><strong><em>First of all, I just wanted to thank everyone who's favoritedreviewed my story so far. It means more than you know._  
><em>I was a little nervous about posting it to begin with; but if I want to write for the world one day, well, I figured I'd start somewhere.<em>  
><em>This is the biggest chapter up to date. I'm hoping to keep each chapter after within the same length. That will just depend on my muse, though.<em>  
><em>I guess that's it for now. Don't be afraid to reviewfave, and I'm always up for some tips or criticism. Whatever you can give me will help._  
>-Melani.<br>**


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **_I do not own the characters or Once Upon a Time, Adam Horowitz and Edward Kitsis do._

**A/N:** S_orry for such a long wait! It's been a little bit crazy around here with work and such, I've barely had any time to myself. I have a few days off coming up, so I'll be able to get the next chapter to you within a week or so. As a matter of fact, it's already been started. As always, your thoughts/criticisms are always welcome. Anything you can give me will help. Thanks to all of you bloody brilliant people who've faved/followed/reviewed so far. It truly means the world to me, you guys keep me going. There's not a whole lot of CS this chapter, it's mainly Killian's inner musings. But, we finally get to meet Graham and Jeff. So, here's to hoping I did them justice. Enjoy!  
><em>

* * *

><p>This was a bad idea. He knew it from the moment the thought crossed his mind. But he wouldn't let it go, <em>couldn't<em> let it go. Somewhere deep down, he wanted this – couldn't think of an option better than this. Emma was right there, concern written in her eyes the minute he laid his own on them. She came to see him, to find out what had him hiding away. It was written all over her face. So when he heard that Milah was back, he took his shot hoping it would work. And all he could do was _hope_ it served its purpose. That Milah would catch on and leave, hopefully never to return. She had no reason to be there. He made that clear.

The closer he got to the bar – it seemed – the more he had decided it was okay to think. And interpret, and investigate. Killian saw the desperation in her eyes the night before, the way she pleaded and begged – even without actually doing so. It was startling, completely out of character, and he loved it. For once he wasn't the one begging. He wasn't the one asking for a chance. Killian Jones had done his fair share of pleading – especially at the hands of _that_ woman. And now, with Emma there to help him sell his happiness – well, never again.

Thoughts of this particular blonde invaded his mind all too suddenly. And as he stood near the edge of the mahogany with his eyes set on Emma – and only Emma – he couldn't help but smile. There was something so genuine about it; he almost felt the need to punch himself a few times. Just to see if it was all a figment of his exhausted imagination. Emma Swan, this beautiful firecracker, helping him – agreeing to do this _for him_, asking for nothing in return. Her attempt to evade the payment of her dress wasn't lost on him.

She'd spent more than enough time pacing behind the counter, fidgeting with a calculator in hand. It was unnerving, and although he had known her for a good while now, Killian knew that sort of behavior wasn't normal. Not for her. She's strong and independent, more than capable of taking care of herself – had a situation with that need ever come to play. He'd lost count of all the bloody filthy old men who'd come in after their shifts – spilling their rough day and marriage troubles to her over a shot of whiskey.

One would think her company to be enough, but they always had other tricks up their sleeve. What was surprising was the way she let it go on. Let them make quip after quip about how good she would look in their bed – screaming and moaning their name. It set things off in him that he couldn't quite put a finger on. (Jealousy, he thought plenty a time, and then he'd have to think about _why_ he was jealous, and that never ended well). But he'd never once had to step in, he knew better. So he'd standby and watch as she'd draw them in with a lip bite or vixen-like smile. And when she'd lean forward and whisper something in their ear, the fear and intimidation he'd see in the poor souls eyes when she pulled away was always enough to make him feel proud. She's bloody brilliant.

His train of thought was interrupted by a glass shattering and a string of curses coming from his mate. Killian tried masking his amusement but there really was no point. Victor had broken more bottles and goblets than anyone else he worked with. It was expensive to say the least – and Gods be damned if the man could go a week without breaking something – but a mate is a mate, and at least the man always had the decency to clean up his own mess.

He took that moment to look around. (Realizing there was a reason he was brought out of the peaceful environment he called his office). Emma was still standing beside him; an amused smirk on her lips as she watched Victor scrambling to clean up his mess. There were a few people leaning against the other side of the bar, drinks in hand – completely oblivious to anyone around them. And then his eyes landed on _her_, and the smile he held in place fell.

Killian drew in a deep breath, letting it slowly evade through his nose. He needed a plan, and fast. He couldn't just go up to her, tell her he was with someone, and walk away. It wouldn't be that easy, and he refused to give himself that hope. Milah was no fool, and if he wanted things to work properly, he'd have to stall. At least until she brought up the ridiculous notion of him giving her a second chance again. Then he'd let his plan take its course. He caught Emma's gaze with a clearing of his throat, and with a nod that managed to convey a simple _it's time,_ he made his way over to his ex. The satisfactory grin plastered on her face gave him pause, but he continued as if he didn't falter. Still too bloody proud to give her any pull over him.

"Milah." He said in distaste, pulling his arms to cross against his chest once he was close enough to be heard.

"Have you not slept, Killian?" She asked in return, lifting a hand to caress the skin beneath his eyes.

He didn't pull back, for reasons unbeknownst to him. And it wasn't until her fingers trembled lower to embrace his cheek that he broke out of his daze – swatting her hand away almost rough enough to knock her off balance.

_Control yourself, mate._

"What do you want, Milah? I thought I made my intentions towards you rather clear last night."

He spoke through clenched teeth, canting his head to the side.

"Or would you like a reminder?"

He added on; watching as the bright green in her eyes dimmed to something a little less, well, lively.

"You're still going to go on with that? Killian you've forgotten, darling, I shared more than just a bed with you."

He winced at the reminder, moving his attention to the crowd. They were still going on, unfazed by the world around them. Oh how he wished he could join them in their careless endeavors.

"I haven't forgotten. I've just chosen to dismiss it and _move on_. Much like you should be doing."

Her gaze turned cold, darker than he'd seen it the night before.

"Are you referring to that _Swan_ girl again?" She all but spat at him.

"And what if I am?" He bit back with equal fervor, placing both palms against the wooden stand between them.

A sinister smile spread across her lips, the eyes he so carefully spent time familiarizing his self with become cold and murky.

"I'd call you a fool, for thinking I'd believe your _petty_ attempts to make me jealous."

"I've nothing to be petty about, but you're more than welcome to ask her yourself."

She scoffed, turning her focus towards said blonde behind him. He chanced a glance at her as well. She was standing in the same spot, held the same stance, but her eyes were zeroed in on him. Most likely trying to hear how the conversation was going so when she comes in for the rescue, she's not bombarded. Knowing Milah, it could still very well come down to that.

A hand covering his own brought his attention back to the woman before him, and with a scowl he pulled back and away. The brunette settled for a long and heavy sigh before clasping her hands and placing them on top of the bar.

"How long have you been together, then?"

Perhaps he should have discussed such details with Emma before deciding to follow through with the plan. But, it was a sham after all. Anything he ended up saying would only stem from that mindset.

"It'll be six weeks come Sunday."

Milah raised a curious brow, leaning forward in her seat. He could see the mischief in her eyes, the question she was going to ask before it ever came to play.

"And do you love her, Killian?"

_Nailed it right on the head._

"What does that even matter?" He inquired.

The corners of her lips turned up slightly, and she shrugged so vaguely it could barely even be considered one.

"If she means as much to you as you're trying so hard to make me believe, I don't see how you possibly can't." She tilts her head, and continues. "But then again, all of your efforts with her _would_ mean nothing if you're still in love with me."

Killian narrows his eyes, biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood. The fact that she would even play that card only angering him more. She had no right, none whatsoever. And yet here she was – grasping at straws, no less – throwing worthless words in to the air like they had some sort of meaning to him.

He'd admit he'd probably always love her. After all, she _was _the first woman he ever felt so strongly for. She brought flair and adventure to his life, gave him means to be bold and daring. That's not to say he was never that way before, she just provoked a darker side of him. Made things more dramatic and unnecessary than they had to be, and when all was said and done she wouldn't apologize; wouldn't even feel guilty or responsible. She was a free spirit, impossible to tame. He should have known the minute he laid his eyes on her that they were never going to last.

The man he was with her is long gone; replaced by someone with stronger reserve, tougher walls and one hell of a sarcastic bite. So when his next words came out he wasn't surprised by her cold change in demeanor.

"I am in love with her. Far more than I ever was with you."

He wanted her to suffer, to repay her for all of _his_ suffering. He wanted her to run and never come back. And Gods, he could tell she was _this_ close. If he just kept going, he knew she would retreat. He could practically taste it and it caused his head to spin with joy. But that was short lived and tainted when a different voice from behind pulled him from his near victory.

"Can I talk to you for a second, Killian?"

It was Emma, placing a hand in the crook of his arm to pull him away from the stony eyed brunette. He went without protest, a smug smirk playing on his lips. When she pulled him far enough away from Milah, she turned to face him. The daggers in her eyes so much more deadly than he would have expected.

"What the _hell_ was that?"

And suddenly any amount of smug was gone, replaced by confusion, before finally settling on realization.

"So you _were_ listening."

He rolled his tongue around in his mouth, his smirk falling back into place as her eyes rolled back.

"How else was I supposed to know what the hell you were planning?"

He shrugged, tilting his head to the side.

"I'm just as much of an open book to you as you are to me, lass. I was just trying to sell the story."

"That wasn't selling the story, Jones. That was shoving it down her throat."

He stepped a little closer, leaving a short distance between them. Not really sure why, other than it seemed to be something he always found himself doing. Her gaze sifted from his eyes, lowering to his lips and back. The hitch in her breath wasn't lost on him, and the temptation to lean forward and capture her lips with his own was eating away at any reluctance he had to do so. God only knows how long he's been wanting to do so. But this wasn't the time or the place and – even if he'd regret it later on – the fact that she looked just as flustered and yearning to do the same was enough. Not to mention this was _Emma_, and this entire thing was just supposed to be an _act_, and Victor was standing right behind them, and now he couldn't bloody think straight.

He pulled back slightly, letting out a light puff of air as he did. Trying his hardest not to pay any mind to the way her eyes were fluttering. He'd almost forgotten what he was going to say before he invaded her space. None of that really mattered anymore, because when he turned to catch a glimpse of Milah, he came up empty. The space she occupied moments before was now unfilled, save for a crumbled up napkin. Killian turned back to Emma, noting the way she too saw that Milah was no longer there.

He opened his mouth to say something but came up short. He wouldn't mind making a quip about their previous situation, or the slight discomfort in the air between them. He always had an act for saying the worst things at the worst possible times. The deep green of her eyes were closed off – unreadable even to him – and he took that as a sign to back off and walk away. So he did, but not without a nod of understanding.

Every thought in his mind seemed to be circling around with no cause, leaving him no more in control of his actions than any other day.

_A drink, you need a drink. And a nap, a bloody long –_

"Jones, my man, you look like hell."

Killian didn't even have time to register the mouth those words came from before he was being pulled in to an awkward hug. It was a familiar one, and damn it all to hell he couldn't stop the smile that soon over took him.

"Graham, you bloody git. I wasn't expecting you this early."

Graham chuckled, pulling his arm back from Killian's side to clasp on to his shoulder instead.

"And here I thought you'd be excited to see me…" He trailed off, pulling his focus away from Killian to something – or someone – behind him. "Emma Swan, you look as beautiful as ever."

_Of course._

He didn't have to look at her to know she rolled her eyes. She was never an easy one to compliment. Graham had learned that directly the first week she started working at the club. It's a pity his mate hadn't learned that yet, but no less entertaining.

"I wish I could say the same."

Her words didn't sound nearly as rude as they would to anyone else, and when he turned his head to look at her, Graham was stalking forward to give her a warm embrace.

"Why the hell does she get a hug, and all I get is a pat on the back?"

_It's about bloody time_, Killian thought, turning his head towards the second familiar voice just as he came around the bar. Of course of all days to come around, Jeff would choose the one he'd not have to work.

"Brought the whole lot in, didn't you, mate?"

"Actually," Jeff cut in, "I was already here. I pulled up just before Humbert's cab."

"And what a welcome home gift that was." Graham joked, his arm hanging off of Emma's shoulders. Which was_ odd_?

"Speaking of," Killian began, leaning himself against the back wall. "I do believe I promised to get you absolutely wrecked."

He turned his focus to Emma; the blonde had a tight smile on her lips. She really wasn't one for drinking, at least not with him and the rest of his crew. Perhaps with Graham back, she'd make an exception.

"So what do you say, Swan, you in?" He asked, crossing his arms over his chest as he raised a brow.

She met his question with a raised brow of her own and a slight tilt of her lips. She'd take it as a challenge, _of course_. She always did enjoy those.

"I am _not_ drinking with you. Someone has to run the place while you idiots get wasted."

Groans were heard for miles, and the surprising thing was not a single one came from him.

"It's one night, lass. You don't even have to _pay_ for them." He then said, adding a wink along with his last words – earning him a glare from the curly haired blonde. Graham pulled her from that with a tighter grip around her shoulders, in turn drawing her in closer to him.

"I haven't seen you in weeks and this is how you want to celebrate my first night home?"

And queue those puppy dog eyes; he was really laying it on thick tonight. Which should have brought up a lot of questions – maybe even some worry – but for the sake of his own sanity, he chose to ignore it. Graham was his best mate, his oldest mate. They grew up together. Graham's parents took him in at a young age, raised him as their own until Liam came back around. Gave him a life he'd never been ungrateful for. He couldn't remember an incident wretched enough to tear them apart, and he sure as hell wouldn't let anything do that now. Even the thought of it had his stomach turning in knots.

He'd been so lost in his musings that he missed Jeff's climb on the bar top. And it wasn't until Victor pulled out five glasses – instead of four – that he realized Emma caved in. He couldn't fight the sly smirk that formed across his lips.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Jeff bellowed, shouting just loud enough to echo throughout the uproar of the room. "In honor of Graham's homecoming –"

"A round to all of you, on the house." Victor chimed in, lifting one of the glasses he poured moments ago up to Jeff. Handing the rest to their respective owners then brought his own to his lips.

"Cheers." Jeff roared again, emptying his glass with as much grace as he could muster.

The rest followed suit, along with the majority of the bar crowd. Killian noticed Emma's hesitance, and when her eyes caught his again, he gave her a slight nod – one of simple reassurance and promise of _fun_.

She drank it down with a new found confidence – her own promise of a good time.

* * *

><p>When Killian planned for the night, it didn't involve a pissed drunk Victor, nor did it involve Jeff and Graham getting in to a very heated debate over their members. Something about their <em>pride<em> and who could give the red-haired woman buying their shots throughout the night, her best release. It ended with surrender on Graham's part – surprisingly – and a victorious grin on Jeff's – _not_ surprising.

As expected, Emma stopped after her second drink. She never did just sit back and relax – _really_ enjoy herself. It was shameful, how hard she tried to not get attached to people. He knew it stemmed from personal experience, events from her past that molded her in to the woman she is today. So bloody stubborn, just like him.

_Look out for yourself and you'll never get hurt, right? _She'd said to him once.

He never really took time before to ponder how true those words were. The meaning they held, even though they didn't _really_ apply to him until after Milah ran back to her coward of a husband. Not even Liam's death caused such a blackening of his heart – after all, it wasn't his fault. No matter how many times he tried to convince himself otherwise. He kept everyone on a short leash, pushed people away, didn't call after a one-night stand – no matter the significance of a _one-night stand_ – that is, until he met Emma. Then all of a sudden pushing people away and keeping a safe distance, didn't seem like a good idea. In fact he tried working for the exact opposite with her. He wanted to get to know her. He wanted to be someone she could trust and rely on.

It had been one hell of a ride so far, but every smile or laugh was worth it. And it wasn't as if he didn't _know her _know her. He could read her well, better than anyone else, he had gathered. He could see the shock in her eyes every time he said something that hit home, that was _true_. She'd try and cover it up with a scoff or wave of her hand, but he knew. He always knew – but he didn't want to have to read her. He wanted her to want to open up to him, to trust him, to reveal herself.

_Someday._

He promised himself as he snapped back to reality. The bar was closed now, completely trashed, and smelt of sweat and if possible, _too much_ alcohol. He had his back against the worn wood, elbows propped on the top of it. Looking around he spotted Graham and Jeff, sitting around a table in the middle of the room. Clearing it off to start a game of cards, it looked like. Then there was Emma, cleaning up some sort of liquid off the floor – he'd only hope it was alcohol. Victor was nowhere in sight, which was a normal thing when he wound up drinking too much. He'd hide away in the bathroom or supply closet and wait until sleep finally over took him.

That was always one hell of a story to tell the blonde when he was sober enough to comprehend it all. He chuckled to himself as he made his way over to the table with the rest of them. Jeff set him a place without even having to ask, a round of cards was always a tradition of sorts when Graham came back around. It'd last well in to the next morning, or until they passed out from utter exhaustion. It was normally the former, but he wouldn't deny the latter happened a time or two. Emma had yet to experience such events though, considering this being the first time Graham had returned since he'd met her. So when he looked her way with a smirk and pleading eyes, he was utterly amused with the confused and somewhat annoyed look she gave him in return.

"Care to play a hand with us, love?"

She didn't stop her movements as he asked, nor did she remove her eyes from him once. Not that she needed to, she'd cleaned up the mess well enough to turn the wooden floor a completely different shade. A habit, he supposed.

"It's late, I think I'm just gonna head home."

A muffled groan came from behind him; he turned instantly even though he knew it could only be one other person.

"So, are we playing or what?"

Victor said in a bit of a slur, walking with a slight wobble over to their table. If he thought _he_ felt bad, he could only imagine the war raging on in the other man's head. His shirt was unbuttoned to a certain extent, unevenly at that. His normal slicked back blonde hair was sticking up in whichever way it pleased. He looked positively wrecked, and it drew a hearty laugh from him and the rest of the table. He could have sworn he heard one from Emma as well, but he wouldn't think too much of it.

"Are you sure you're up for that, mate? You don't look too well." Killian said, swiping his hand from the table to rearrange them.

"Yeah sure – I already made that toilet in there my bitch for the night."

He grimaced at the images his words brought to mind, and shook his head. Emma stopped what she was doing and walked towards Victor, handing off the mop to him once she got there.

"Great, then you can clean her up. I'm going home."

He watched the interaction go down, and was brought back to the table before him when the sound of a chair scooting back broke that attention. It was Graham, nearly running to Emma's side.

"Are you sure you want to leave, Ems? The party has just begun." His arm was extended out beside him, gesturing to the empty room.

Emma's only reaction to his attempts was yet another eye roll. Perhaps she found the sandy haired man's trying to be as desperate as he did.

"You won't even notice I'm gone."

Killian's eyes roamed over to Jeff's when a slight chuckle emerged from him. Killian's brow furrowed, wondering why that had drawn such a reaction from the mad man.

"You say that now." Graham retorted, a cheesy grin on his face, but Emma wasn't buying in to it. She had her coat and keys in hand in a matter of seconds, and turned back towards them once she reached the door. A muttered _Goodnight_ falling from her lips before she walked outside. Graham trailed out behind her, leaving the remaining three to their thoughts.

Killian set his cards face down on the table and leaned back in his chair, lifting both hands to cradle the back of his head. Jeff took the same stance, with a less than thrilling smirk on his face. And well, Victor finally made it in to a chair after spooning with the mop. His head was laying on top of the table now, hands hanging down to the ground.

"So what was that all about, mate?" Killian inquired, looking towards the only man in the room who would be able to give him a coherent answer.

"_That_ my friend," He began, pulling his hands back in front of himself as he leaned on the table. "Was Graham finally becoming a man."

"What the bloody hell does that mean?" He asked in return, copying Jeff's previous movements to lean his weight on the table in front of him.

"You really don't see it, do you?"

"_Jeff_" Killian nearly growled, losing his patience.

"Alright," Jeff said, lifting his hands in a mock surrender. "He's sort of, had eyes for Emma since she got here. He's been saying he's wanted to ask her out for a while now. I guess he's finally found the balls to do it."

He raised two brows at that, opening and shutting his mouth in an attempt to reply but coming up with no words to do so. Why of all people, would Jeff know said information? Had he really been that blind? Graham was always around when Emma first showed up. He'd trained her a bit, and then let Graham have a run at it. She responded better to his teachings, but she never commented badly about her time with Humbert. He in no way thought his mate disliked Emma, but he'd never mentioned his intentions towards her. Certainly not wishing to court her, or make a move on her.

"Wait, how do you know this?"

"Oh come on," It was Victor this time, not even lifting his head from the table. "Humby has been following her around with puppy dog eyes since he met her."

"Yeah I mean, I knew you were a little worse-for-wear but Killian, bro, this is a first. You're normally pretty good with this sort of thing."

Killian turned and glared at Jeff and his implication. Even though he really had no reason to, he wasn't wrong. He'd always been able to tell when someone was in a relationship, normally by their behaviors. He'd known right off the bat when Graham was in one. He'd start slipping out a little earlier and would call in on weekends. Victor never had that problem; he'd always find a girl who wouldn't mind joining him while he worked. Jeff _was_ a different story, seeing as most times he was content with just spending time with his daughter, but he'd too slip out earlier and switch out his shifts for different days. That or, not come in at all. _Bloody bastard._

But Graham had only known Emma for a _week_; he'd left not a day later back to Ireland to visit his folks. If it were indeed true, he could only imagine the thoughts that transpired about in the man's head. He wasn't a stranger to the deep ache left in your chest when separated from the ones you care for. He _did_ find his flirty attempts and eyelash bats earlier a bit out of character. It was new territory, considering he had never actually _met_ Graham's former partner. Perhaps that's why he'd followed her out – to make his intentions clear. He'd decided to not dwell on the raw ache that left in his gut. (Bitterness and jealousy and some form of longing). Instead he chose to rub at his jaw with as much nonchalance as he could wager, and shrug.

"Bloody hell, I guess you're right."

The creak of a door opening caused a break in conversation. All three heads turned to the front of the bar where Graham was walking in – a smile across his lips that promised good news. He clasped his hands together as he joined the rest of the group around the table.

"Alright boys, ready to beg me for mercy?" Graham asked, a sinister little smile now tugging away at his lips.

Victor – albeit a bit groggy – laughed and lifted his head from the table, finally able to keep it up without falling over. "You wish, _Humby_."

"You're too intoxicated for your own good, Vic. Where are their pet names, hmm?" Graham inquired as he picked up the cards before him, gesturing around the table.

Victor chuckled and patted his chest in a gesture Killian was sure was meant to be heartfelt.

"Only the truly special ones get rewarded with such honors, you know that."

Jeff gasped in shock, placing a hand over his heart as if he were truly wounded.

"And here I thought I was the only one for you."

That earned a laugh from the rest of them. _One of many to come_, he mused, and picked his hand up from the table. He sat back and watched as his best mate's shoved and fought for the chance to pass around the chips. Victor won by a mile, apparently he was rather vicious when sloshed. They all put in their ante, and traded whatever cards they needed replaced. It had been hours since he'd thought about Milah and what would come the following days. He knew better than to assume she'd give up so easily, so a new plan would have to be devised by that time. If he was lucky, a few hours of sleep would be included in making it a successful one.

He'd be truly fortunate if it included a certain blonde, one with curly locks and eyes as green as the ocean. But that would deter a lot of things, wouldn't it? Graham, for one, now that he knew of his friend's situation. He hadn't planned on letting anyone in on their little arrangement. It was only meant to last the night. So telling him – or _them_, he corrected after looking around the table – would be out of the question. He couldn't imagine Emma wanting to tell her roommate or that leggy brunette she brought around from time to time, either. Truth be told, Emma never spoke of him or her job when she wasn't actually working. (Something he picked up in random conversation with her not too long ago).

He could feel a headache sprouting over all of the thinking he was doing, and dimly he registered his name being called by Jeff. Asking him to _raise or fold _because _for Christ sakes, we don't have all night_.

He suppressed the urge to flip him off, and instead allowed his eyes to sift through his hand. He had nothing to show but a pair of tens and jacks – judging by the eccentric eyebrow waggle from Graham, he could be in way over his head. That was his tell, and luck must have been on only his side, because everyone else at the table groaned in response and opted to fold.

Killian had other plans in mind though, as he slid a good hundred dollars worth of chips to the center of the table, sitting back with his eyes intent on Graham's.

"It's your call, mate."

Because a man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets.

And he was definitely going to fight.

* * *

><p><strong>Well, that's the chapter. I'm <strong>_**really**_** trying not to make Milah so annoying/bitchy, but every time I rewrite one of her scenes, it comes out in relatively the same way. Stupid muse. We'll get more CS next time around, a dash of Gremma (what happened when he followed her outside), **_**and**_** Nealfire will be introduced. I already have something in mind for him, though I'm still deciding if I should give him a **_**good**_** first impression. We shall see. Thanks for reading! Take it easy, loves.  
>-Melani.<strong>


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